


Useless Heroes, Uselesser Villains

by Virtuella



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Parody, Plotholes exposed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: Considering the lackadaisical approach which is - notwithstanding their dramatic rhetoric - taken by heroes and villains alike, it is astonishing that either side manages to accomplish anything at all during the Ring War.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. The Dangers of Procrastination

In a severe goth-meets-steam-punk chamber in Barad-dûr, Khamûl rose from his seat at the conference table, adjusted his robe and began:

“The prisoner was subjected to enhanced interrogation this morning. I think you will find my report most interesting, my lord. It would appear that around five hundred years ago, the prisoner found – and subsequently lost about seventy-seven years ago – a magic ring in the vicinity of the Gladden Fields.”

Sauron, who had up to this point absentmindedly inspected a cob web hanging from the black Artex ceiling, exclaimed, “Ah, news of my ring at last! And at a most convenient time as well.”

“How can you be sure it is your ring, my lord?” asked the Witch King.

“Easy as pie. If the prisoner has survived for centuries, it must be a Great Ring. The Three, the Seven and the Nine are all accounted for, ergo it must be the One. QED.” Sauron leaned back smugly.

“Impressive reasoning, my lord,” said the nazgûl, and, “Neatly deducted, sir,” and, “QED, what does that mean?”

“Well, gentlemen, I think we ought to see to it that it returns into the right hands, don’t you think?”

Approving mumbles spread around the table.

“Did the prisoner give any indication as to where he lost the ring, Khamûl?

“Better, my lord,” replied Khamûl with an air of satisfaction. “He told us who has it now. Someone by the name of Baggins in a place in Eriador called the Shire. Apparently – I consulted the library at lunchtime – it is a leaderless community of ignorant, fat little peasants. We shouldn’t meet with any resistance there.”

“Hm.” Sauron frowned. If Khamûl had hoped to receive praise for his lunchtime diligence, he was disappointed. “Didn’t you say this was seventy-seven years ago, though? A lot might happen in such a time span. I mean, look at me: I got this whole place redecorated.” He glanced with pride at the black and purple latex wall hangings. “So before we make any concrete plans, we need more information. Question the prisoner again tomorrow, Khamûl.”

“Um, that won’t be possible,” said the Mouth of Sauron in quivering tones.

“Why not?”

“Because I was notified just before this meeting that the prisoner has escaped.”

Sauron slowly counted to ten. Then he screamed, “Why, oh why do I have to work with such complete and utter incompetents?”

Nobody replied.

oOoOoOo

_A little while later, in the Shire_

“So when did you first suspect that this was the One Ring?” asked Frodo.

Gandalf sent a smoke ring floating round the chandelier. “Hm, that would have been the year we drove the Necromancer out of Mirkwood. The year of the Battle of Five Armies.”

“What?” squeaked Frodo. “But that was seventy-seven years ago! That was when Bilbo first found then ring! You suspected it _then_? Why haven’t you done anything about it in all this time?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” said Gandalf, embarrassed. “At first I put it off because we had just finished a whopping adventure and I needed a bit of a holiday, and then I had tonsillitis, and then it was Figwit’s Silver Wedding party, and then it kind of went out of my head. Besides,” he added hastily as he nodded the rising wrath in Frodo’s face,” I couldn’t really be sure it was the One Ring.”

“Why not? You told me not five minutes ago that all the others were accounted for. Anyone with half a brain could have worked it out.”

Gandalf squirmed. “Well, you know, we’d discussed it at the White Council and we’d agreed that we needn’t worry, because the One Ring had fallen into the Great River.”

“It fell into the river and so your White Council decided the problem was solved.” Frodo turned his head aside and rolled his eyes. “You wizard types are wise indeed!”

“No need to be so sarcastic,” said Gandalf. “Look, I’m sorry, I should have dealt with it earlier, but I let it slip. So, okay, I did nothing about it for years and years, decades you might even say, and now the Enemy has found out all about it and is after you. Mea culpa, but it’s no use crying over spilled milk. The important thing is that you lose no time now and leave the Shire at once. I think you should go immediately. September 22nd, your and Bilbo’s birthday, that’s a good time to leave.”

“It’s April now,” said Frodo. “Why should I wait five months? I think I should leave tonight!”

“If you leave now, there will be much talk about it after you’re gone and it will draw attention. But if you make lengthy preparations and tell everybody that you will be leaving, that will quell any talk.”

“Oh, really? I am not convinced that I want to take advice from somebody who took seventy-seven years to work out that –”

“I think you need to talk less and listen more, Frodo Baggins!” boomed Gandalf. “You are just a little hobbit and I am the mighty Gandalf. Now do as I tell you!”

oOoOoOo

_A little while later at Sarn Ford_

Gandalf filled his pipe for the third time and then took a deep puff. “So I want every available Ranger to patrol the borders of the Shire 24/7, do you hear? The Enemy must not find Frodo!”

“There are about forty, maybe forty-five of us who could be set on this duty. The borders of the Shire are something like five hundred miles long. It would be better use of our resources if we gathered those forty to set a watch on Frodo’s house, or even better, escort him on his way. We could be in Rivendell before the end of the month.”

“No! What if the servants of the Enemy attack you on the way?”

“They would have less of a chance against all forty of us together,” Strider pointed out. “And if we leave within the next couple of days, we could get away long before they reach Eriador.”

Gandalf shook his head and continued to smoke hectically.

“There is yet time. Frodo needs to make his preparations and I want to visit Saruman first. He usually has some nice little garden parties around this time. My heart tells me that we should go with my plan.”

“What exactly is your plan, Gandalf? And what do you want me to do?”

“You should just hang around in the vicinity of Bree and if Frodo happens to come that way, you can escort him from there.”

“And what if the servants of the Enemy attack us on the way?”

“You always have to nit-pick, don’t you?”

oOoOoOo

_A little while later in Barad-dûr_

Sauron welcomed the Nine as they returned from their latest scouting expedition.

“No news, my lord, I am sorry to say,” said the Witch King.” And I’m afraid our travels are no longer secret. The hippie wizard has seen us and no doubt will go blabbing to all his pals.”

“Never mind, that doesn’t matter anymore. Gentlemen, we have thrilling news. Saruman palantired me this afternoon. He says the old busybody Gandalf came to him all flustered and wittering about the One Ring. It looks like Gandalf-dear has done our work for us and found out for certain that the Baggins brat has it. Saruman has detained Gandalf in Orthanc, and the two idiots can keep each other distracted there. Oh, and Saruman also palantired me a map of the Shire, which may come in handy.”

“Shall we leave for the Shire tomorrow at dawn then, my lord?” asked Khamûl, angling as usual for his boss’s approval.

“There’s no rush. The transport infrastructure in Middle-earth is so appalling these days that wherever the Baggins brat decides to go, it’ll take him ages to get there. That is, if he goes anywhere at all. We have no reason to believe that he knows we’re after him.”

“But won’t Gandalf suspect it and warn him? He might be able to send some kind of message from his prison in Orthanc.”

Sauron raised an eyebrow. “What do you think? It took Gandalf seventy-seven years to work out what I realised in seconds. And even if Gandalf manages to get a message out, the privatisation of the postal services means that it would take months to reach the Baggins brat. No, no, we can take our time.”

“Are you sure, my lord? Wouldn’t it be better if –”

“Yes, yes, Khamûl, I’m sure. There’s no need to leave before the end of next week. I have a golf weekend planned. The Sea of Nurn is very lovely at this time of year.”

“And I have a pedicure appointment on Friday,” added the Witch King. “They’re quite hard to come by, you know.”

“Whatever,” sighed Khamûl.

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile on the pinnacle of Orthanc_

‘I could warn Galadriel or Elrond, possibly even both of them, telepathically that I am imprisoned here. After all, we are capable of telepathy. But my heart tells me that this is too perilous. The Enemy might have hacked into our telepathy account. I think I’d better wait. Maybe an eagle will come along and rescue me. I quite fancy an eagle ride. Yes, I’ll wait.”

oOoOoOo

_The following week in Barad-dûr_

“So, let’s go over this again, gentlemen. Who are you?”

“The Nine, the Ringwraiths, the nazgûl.”

“And what do you do?”

“We strike lethal fear into the heart of every mortal.”

“And how do you do it?”

“Um…”

“Err…”

“I know, I know, sir, we’re looking really menacing!” piped up Khamûl.

“That’s right,” added the Witch King, “and we move about in a creepy kind of way, and sniff and hiss, like so: Sssssssssssssssssss…”

“And all mortals cower before us and do our bidding!”

“Yeah!”

“Right!”

“Unless…”

“What?” Sauron and the nazgûl turned and stared at the Mouth of Sauron.

“Unless, pardon me for pointing this out, just speaking from experience here, unless people are a bit assertive and firmly tell them No. Then the lethal nazgûl tend to back off. Or if there’s a fire. Or if someone mentions the name of that star bitch or sings some Elven songs. They don’t like water much either, or steep slopes… Well, it’s true!”

The Mouth of Sauron looked defiant. The nazgûl shuffled their feet.

“Weeeeell,” said the Witch King, “there may be one or two little things that we find a bit off-putting. But other than that, we are absolutely terrifying! And lethal!”

“Yeah!” chorused the other nazgûl. “Totally!”

“Off with you then,” said Sauron. “And remember to stay on the road. I hired the horses at the standard rate, and if you take them off-road, I’ll have to pay a surcharge that I’ll take out of your wages.”

“What if the Baggins brat leaves the road, my lord?” asked Khamûl.

“Oh, don’t be silly.”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile at Isengard_

‘I should really kill Gandalf to make sure he can’t interfere ever again. Oh, I’ll do it tomorrow.”


	2. Various Tactical Errors Cancel Each Other Out

In the first chapter we have established that both heroes and villains aren’t really in much of a hurry to get on with the plot. At least Frodo and his friends are finally on the road, as are the nazgûl. Back at Barad-dûr, Sauron wonders whether he should perhaps gather some armies and attack Minas Tirith now, but decides it would be better to wait for the spring. At Isengard, Saruman postpones the killing of Gandalf for another day.

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in the Woody End of the Shire_

“Can I see the map, Mr Frodo?”

“Um, I didn’t bring a map.”

“Why not?”

“Because, um, it would have taken up too much space.”

“They can be folded, you know, meaning no disrespect.”

Frodo stared ahead trying to hide his irritation.

“We should stop at the next village and buy a map,” Sam went on.

“I’d rather not.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t bring much money.”

“Why –”

“I just didn’t, okay?!” snapped Frodo and stormed ahead. Pippin followed him hastily, making urgent faces at Sam over his shoulder.

Sam trudged on. “Five months of preparation, eh?” he muttered under his breath.

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile back on the road_

“They came off the road here and disappeared into the woods.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I could smell them quite clearly, and the Ring was calling to me as well.”

“Why didn’t you follow them?”

“Why should I pay for the off-road surcharge?”

oOoOoOo

_The next day, somewhere in the Woody End_

Gildor Inglorion looked at his irate girlfriend in bafflement. “What do you mean, do something about it?”

“Gildor! Young Baggins is being followed by nazgûl and you just let him wander off with nothing but some half-assed advice?”

“Hush, do not mention them, even in the bright day of the Shire!”

“ _That’s_ what’s worrying you?” She clenched her fists in disbelief. “ _That_ bothers you? Don’t be so fricking superstitious! Nazgûl, nazgûl, nazgûl! There, nothing happened. In the meantime, though, the nazgûl are hunting down those poor hobbits and you haven’t lifted a finger to help them.”

“We gave them quite a nice supper last night,” he pointed out.

“Great, that’s a _lot_ of help!”

“I suppose we could…”

“Yes, what?” She tapped her foot.

“Send some messages out, tell folk that Frodo is on his way.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?”

“Well, we’ll send them only to the people who know about it.”

She suppressed a scream. “I despair of you, I really do.”

oOoOoOo

_A little while later at the Maggots’ farm_

“Stay for supper, Mr Baggins.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Maggot, but I really need to hurry and get away from those Black Riders.”

“I can give you a lift to the ferry.”

“Brilliant! Black Riders could never catch me whilst I’m travelling on a farm cart. To the supper table, my friends!”

oOoOoOo

_Some time later by the ferry_

Three nazgûl stared at the bare jetty.

“You let him get away, you numpty,” said the first.

“Well, you let him get away yesterday, so there,” the second replied.

“Gentlemen, please,” said the third, “can we try and find a constructive solution? There is a bridge about twenty miles north from here. We know the Baggins brat is on his way to Crickhollow; we can be there in a few hours. Let’s finish this tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the second. “I’m kind of all worn out from tramping through this horrible countryside. I want a rest. The Baggins brat will still be in Crickhollow tomorrow.” He turned to the first. “What do you say?”

“My horse has lost a shoe.”

“That settles it then.”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in Crickhollow_

Having narrowly escaped Black Riders, Frodo is delighted to have reached the safety of an unfortified house which he had given as his mail-forwarding address. He feels sure the Enemy cannot get him now, because the door is closed. He luxuriates in his bath and then has a lengthy supper.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Merry while Pippin and Sam licked their plates.

“Dunno,” replied Frodo. “How quickly could the Black Riders get here?”

“Well, they could be here by now,” said Merry pointedly.

“And how quickly could we get away?”

“Pretty much immediately. The ponies are ready, the luggage is ready; so if we all just nip to the loo, we can perhaps escape. You know, just in case you want to avoid being caught.”

“Oh, I’m not sure. There’s all these dishes to wash; it’s slovenly to leave them. And Pippin still has to mop up the water in the bathroom. Let’s sleep over it and leave tomorrow. I dare say they won’t come tonight.”

“If you say so,” said Merry, slightly miffed that his efficiency had been disregarded. 

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile somewhere to the south of the Shire._

A dozen Rangers were seated around a campfire, toasting marshmallows. Their horses ambled about in the soft grass.

“Just a thought,” said one of the Rangers, a formidable fellow with shoulders as broad as an oxen yoke, “maybe we should go after them. If we take the Greenway, we can probably catch up with Aragorn in Bree. Aragorn thought it would be good if we escorted these hobbits, so let’s do it.”

“No,” said Halbarad. “We must stick to Gandalf’s plan.”

“What exactly is Gandalf’s plan?”

Halbarad scratched his head. “Um, to trust in courage and good fortune, I think. More marshmallows, anyone?”

oOoOoOo

_The next day, in the Old Forest_

“You know what would be a really great invention?” said Pippin while the hobbits scrambled down another steep-walled ravine that was leading them in the wrong direction entirely. “A device that tells you where north is.”

“That already exists,” said Merry. “It’s called a map.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” replied Pippin, unruffled by the dripping sarcasm in Merry’s voice. “I mean something you could carry around with you that would point to the north from wherever you are standing.”

“Oh, I see.” Merry stopped and looked back to where Frodo and Sam were more sliding than climbing down the bank. “That does sound useful, but I don’t think it is possible. It would be beyond the magic of even the greatest elven craftsmen.”

“More magical than rings that make you invisible?” asked Pippin.

“Um… Let’s stop for a snack, shall we?”

oOoOoOo

_A day later, at the Golden Perch in Stock_

Three nazgûl were seated at a table in the corner by the fireplace. One was slumped over and snoring softly. The second was gesturing to the barkeep for more beer. The third was sitting primly upright and an expression of exasperation was discernible in the set of his shoulders. This was the one who went by the name of Jûnior.

“I think you should stop drinking, Jasûn,” he said. “We have already lost two days to your little pit stop.”

“Ah, don’t be such a party pooper.” Jasûn slammed his tankard on the table. “This is the best beer in the Eastfarthing, nay, in the whole Shire! Don’t you agree, Jordûn?” He nudged the slumped-over nazgûl who responded with nothing more than a muffled groan.

“We could be back on our way home by now,” whined Jûnior. “The Boss might give us a bonus for being the ones who brought him the Ring. But, oh, no, you two had to come here and drink like…like…”

“If you can’t think of a good metaphor, shut up,” said Jasûn.

“Simile,” mumbled Jordûn.

“What?”

“If you use ‘like’ or ‘as’ then it’s a simile, not a metaphor. I’m not drunk, you know. Just tired.” With considerable effort, he lifted his head off the table. “Anyways. Back to work tomorrow!”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

oOoOoOo

_Some time later, at the edge of the Barrow-Downs_

After much waving, Goldberry lowered her arm and rubbed the aching muscles. She returned to the house, closed the door and put on her pink pompom slippers. When she entered the kitchen, she found to her surprise that Tom was sitting on a stool by the window with a glass in his hand.

“Tom! What are you doing?”

“Ding-dong, dongle-on, derridel, my hearty! Tom is having a little tipple after his long labours.”

“That’s _not_ what we agreed!”

“Dim-dumb, gristlethumb, what did we agree, my dearie?”

“You know exactly what we agreed!”

“Tin drum, icky scum, remind me, please, my petal. This mead has gone to Tom’s head a little.”

“We agreed that you would follow the hobbits discreetly in case they got into any trouble. Do I need to remind you, too, that those Barrow-Downs are crawling with wights who like nothing better than prey on innocent travellers?”

“Ping-pong, singalong, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“They could get killed?”

“Well, yeah, maybe, but I don’t have time to be frolicking about the countryside with some hobbits. I have flowers to pick, and Goldberry is waiting.”

“I _am_ Goldberry! And you, Tom Bombadil, will go after them now, double-quick!”

oOoOoOo

_Another two days later, still at the Golden Perch in Stock_

“I suppose we’d better get going. Barkeep, the bill please!”

The bill turned out to cause considerable embarrassment to the nazgûl, who could only rustle up three halfpennies and a half-eaten pear from their pockets. Shortly afterwards, they found themselves in the inn’s kitchen, washing dishes.

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile, somewhere in Eriador_

“No, good sir,” said the milk maid, “never heard of it. Are you sure elves live there? I thought they were just the stuff of stories, not real.”

“Well,” said Boromir, straightening up his tunic, “I am not entirely sure, but I had this dream. It was like a poem and a riddle. _Seek for the sword that was broken, In Imladris it dwells…”_

“Shame you didn’t dream a map to go with it, sir,” replied the milk maid. “Or at least some decent directions. What do you need a broken sword for anyway? I see you have quite a big, strong sword there on … your belt.” She winked.

Boromir felt himself blush and hastily mounted his horse. “Good day,” he cried and cantered off.

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in Bree_

With screams of frustration, the nazgûl kicked at the bedsteads and slashed at the pillows and bolsters.

“Quick, let’s search the rest of the inn!” hissed the one known as Kevûn.

“No,” replied the one called Rûmeo. “They are gone.”

“Fiddlesticks! We know they’re here.”

“That Ferny dude said they would be in this room and they’re not,” observed the one who went by the name of Lûrri.

“Then clearly they have gone to a different room, you pestilent waste of space!”

“There’s no need to be offensive. Khamûl said only to search one room.”

“Why in Middle-earth would he say that?”

“Dunno. Good sportsmanship, I think. Anyway,” said Rûmeo and drew himself up to his full height, an effect that was slightly spoiled when he hit his head on the low ceiling, “I am in charge tonight. We’ll go back and report to Khamûl and Witchy.”

“Can we at least drive off all the horses and ponies?”

“Oh, all right then.”

oOoOoOo

_A few days later at Imladris_

The soft light of the dancing flames in the fireplace lit Elrond’s face. His face was ageless, neither young nor old, but the recent shenanigans about the seating plans for the Yule celebrations had left him with dark rings under his eyes. And now this.

“Do we really have to do anything about it?” he asked in the voice of a long-suffering housekeeper.

“Of course we do,” replied Glorfindel with energy. “We need to set a watch, both at the Last Bridge and at the ford to make sure the servants of the Enemy won’t waylay the Ringbearer at these bottlenecks.”

“There are not many of us who can ride openly against the Nine,” wailed Elrond.

“We can rustle up a few,” said Glorfindel. “At a pinch, I’m willing to take on all nine at once, and you could do the same. It’s not as if they’re balrogs.”

“No,” said Elrond. “I feel one of my migraines coming on. But ride to the Last Bridge by all means. Here –” He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a gemstone. “–here’s a pretty trinket that you could put on the Bridge.”

“What is this, a treasure hunt?” snapped Glorfindel.

“Ah,” said Elrond with a sigh, “that would be fun. Let’s have one next week. But for now, alas, duty calls. I must consult with Cook about the menu.”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile at Weathertop_

Peering down at the road from the exposed summit of the hill, Frodo, Merry and Strider could discern five black figured riding towards each other on the road, two from the east and three from the west. When they met, they huddled together and one pointed at the hill where Strider and the hobbits crouched. He waved.

“Crumbs,” whispered Frodo, “they’ve seen us. Whatever shall we do now?”

“Don’t fret, there is hope yet” replied Strider. “Sam and Pippin must have found the firewood by now that my pals usually stash in the dell. We’ll have a barbeque and a singalong.”

“You cannot be serious!” cried Frodo.

“I am always serious.” Strider arranged his featured to look sterner than ever. “Now I come to think of it,” he chattered as they walked down the hillside towards the dell, “it kind of does make sense that the Enemy had this place watched. It’s like the biggest landmark for miles and miles around. And chances of meeting Gandalf here were always minuscule. We should have come a different way.”

“Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve,” grumbled Merry. 

oOoOoOo

_The following day, somewhere in the wilderness_

“We should have persevered!” growled Khamûl. “We were _that_ close to getting that flaming ring!”

“But there were five of them and only five of us, and they had a fire!” said Lûrri.

“And why were there only five of us, you squirming maggot? Whose idea was it that some of us should chase after that blasted wizard? Who came up with that bloody stupid idea?”

“That would have been me,” said the Witch King.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” stuttered Khamûl. “I was sure it was Lûrri. I do seem to recall that Lûrri said –”

“Oh, shut up! Even if we’d all been there, we wouldn’t have succeeded. The Halfling shouted the name of Her That Shall Not Be Named. My ears are still ringing.”

“It’s high time we dealt with this little problem. I heard you can get desensitisation therapy and –”

“I said SHUT UP!”

The Witch King pulled his robe closer round his shoulder and rode off into the sunset. Then, realising his mistake, he turned his horse and rode east. “Don’t you dare say a word, any of you!” he roared as he galloped past his colleagues.

oOoOoOo

_Eleven days later, at Imladris_

“I worry about Frodo so, Gandalf,” said Bilbo. “Won’t you ride out and meet him on the road? At least as far as the ford?”

“All in good time, my dear Bilbo. First I need to get the corn on my left foot seen to.”

oOoOoOo

_The following day, in a small drawing room at Barad-dûr_

Sauron and the Mouth of Sauron were sitting in front of the palantir, a bowl of popcorn between them.

“Get off the line, Saruman,” said Sauron testily. “We’re about to watch the final chase. Tonight, the Ring will be mine!”

The Mouth of Sauron looked at his master as if he expected something.

“What?” snapped Sauron.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Mouth. “I just thought that would have been a good moment to say MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

“Shhhhh, here it comes!” Sauron leaned forward as the image in the palantir began to home in on the Ford of Bruinen. Sunlight glinted on the rippling waters. To both sides of the river, the land was flat, treeless and entirely empty.

“Where are they?” whispered Mouth.

“Um, they’re hiding in ambush,” replied Sauron.

“Where?”

“Somewhere behind the rocks over there.”

“That’s quite far away,” said Mouth.

“The curved surface of the palantir distorts the real proportions. And now be quiet. They can be here any minute now.”

Indeed, he had barely finished his sentence when a group of figures could be seen emerging from the shade of the pine trees.

“Rats, they have a filthy elf with them!” cried Mouth.

“I said, be quiet!”

They watched as the group inched towards the ford, then suddenly the white horse leapt forward and sped away. At the same moment, several black horses burst out of the wood.

“Go!” Sauron whooped. “Go, go, go, GO!” 

“Where’s the ambush?” asked Mouth.

The ambush did in fact make an appearance just then. For an instant, it looked as if the nazgûl would reach the ford first, but seconds later the white horse ploughed through the water and climbed up on the far bank.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…!” shrieked Sauron and Mouth in unison.

“Wait, they can still get him,” cried Sauron.

“You’ll hurt your eye getting so close to the screen,” said Mouth.

“Shut up. Look, Witchy has almost made it! Go, Witchy, go!”

The Witch King’s horse was about to set hoof on the far bank, when some kind of interference seemed to blur the image.

“What’s going on?”

“For pity’s sake, it’s that thrice-cursed river!” Sauron yelled. “Look, it’s a flash flood! They’ll all get swept away!”

And right enough, the sudden assault of the waters overpowered the nazgûl who were in the middle of the stream. On the near shore, the nasty elf forced the remaining black horses into the flood. Only the Witch King still sat on his steed and a single leap forward would have brought him safely ashore.

“Go, Witchy!” cried Sauron. “You can make it!”

“Witchy! Go get him, boy!” Mouth’s voice squeaked with excitement.

At that moment, the Witch King’s horse plunged backward instead of forward and the last of the black shapes disappeared into the foaming white chaos.

Sauron curled up in a corner of the room and whimpered softly.


	3. Elves Cannot Multitask

In the delightful house of Elrond in Rivendell, Elven voices resonated along every corridor, dry leaves blew in through the vastly attractive yet glassless windows, and a rather embarrassed-looking Erestor entered the bedchamber of one Boromir of Gondor.

Boromir looked up from his horn, which he had been fondling on his lap. “How can I help you?”

“Um, this is a little awkward,” said Erestor. “I was supposed to hand these out last week but I forgot. Would you mind filling this in now, as quickly as you can? Just so you can give them back to me before you set off tonight?” He proffered a bundle of parchments.

Boromir frowned, bewildered. “What is it?”

“Oh, just the evaluation form. So we can monitor the effectiveness of our services.”

“What do you mean – oh, never mind, pass it here.” He grabbed the parchments and flung them on the tastefully carved desk.

“Thank you so much. And my apologies for the delay.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Erestor shut the door behind him in silence.

With a sigh, Boromir picked up the parchments and glanced over them. On the sheets were drawn a number of large boxes, each with a heading at the top. He scanned them quickly. Then he let he parchments sink. “Are they mad? _How accessible did I find_ – what does that even mean?” He put his feet up on the desk and began to attack his molars with a toothpick. After a while, he picked up the parchments again and considered them with a friendlier eye. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing that he was asked for his opinion. Frankly, he had a whole lot of sticky points which somehow he had been too polite to mention and which therefore were slowly choking him up. For a start, why couldn’t the fricking Elves multitask? Sending out scouts and waiting weeks and weeks for them to come back and only after all the scouts return does it occur to them to reforge that sword of Aragorn’s? Actually, during that entire time, his designated companions were behaving as if they were on holiday with not a care in the world. And then, after the return of the scouts, they suddenly run around like headless chickens, looking for backpacks, checking out maps, scrabbling for supplies. That would have all been done weeks ago, if anyone had listened to him. But no, “All in good time,” Gandalf had said, and the good time seemed to be the very last minute when everyone just grabbed what they could. He’d seen that hobbit Samwise pack pipeweed and salt, but no rope! He, Boromir, had a rope in his pack, as one should never travel without, but he intended not to advertise the fact. Anyway, here was a chance to let those fancy-pants Elves have a piece of his mind.

_How effectively has your stay in Imladris prepared you for your upcoming journey?_

_Well, I’m quite an experienced traveller and warrior,_ wrote Boromir, _so I was already pretty well prepared before I arrived here. But given the quest we are facing, it would have made sense to discuss a few questions in more detail, for example: Which route are we going to take? Will we attempt to cross the Misty Mountains and if so, where and how? What alternative route will we take if crossing the mountains should prove impossible? Are there any allies along our way who might render assistance? From which direction will the fellowship approach Mordor and how might the Black Gate be overcome? I pointed out these and many other questions, but Gandalf’s reply was that we should “not look too far ahead.” This does not strike me as effective forward planning. Also, some weapons practice for those young hobbits and a First Aid refresher course for us all would have been useful._

Ah, it felt good to get that off his chest. He turned the page and read the next question.

_How do you rate the overall effectiveness of the presentations given at the council?_

Effectiveness? He wasn’t sure what would count as effectiveness in this context, but what had shocked him and still made him shake his head all these weeks later was the utter incompetence of just about everybody that had come to light at the Council. The dwarves had waited a whole year before they decided to warn Bilbo that Sauron was after him. The Mirkwod Elves had let the creature Gollum escape, because they could not watch a prisoner and fend off an attack at the same time – no multitasking, remember? Gandalf had seen that there was a narrow stair leading off the tower of Orthanc but instead of taking this obvious route of escape he had sat down on the pinnacle twiddling his thumbs in the hope some obliging eagle would pass by. Aragorn had led the hobbits to every single bottleneck at which the servants of the Enemy could have waylaid them – it was just as well that these Ringwraiths were so easily scared off and apparently totally incapacitated by the loss of their horses and robes. And Elrond, what about Elrond’s story of the distant past? If Elrond and his fellow Elves knew that the Ring had to be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, why in Middle-earth did they let Isildur get away with keeping it?

Boromir’s quill was poised for a mighty rant, but he reined himself in at the last moment. It would not do to insult his host and all his companions. He would have to get on with these people for goodness knew how long. So instead he wrote: _The presentations by Elrond and Gandalf were a bit too long and not all the details were relevant. Some visual aids, for example maps, would have been useful._

The next box was headed: _How fully were your objectives met?_

How fully were his objectives met? Well, this at least was easy. He had found the sword that was broken, seen the Halfling and Isildur’s Bane. With hindsight, he might ask whether it had been worth this whole long journey just to solve some riddle, but that was his own problem. The answer to the question on the sheet was clear: _Fully._ He turned another page and read:

_How accessible did you find the materials provided by your host?_

What materials were they? There had been no agenda circulated prior to the Council of Elrond and there had been no hand-outs. Or did they mean the supplies for the journey which had been so haphazardly thrown together during the last few days? But the word “accessible” could hardly be applied here. After some deliberation Boromir decided to put three question marks into the box. On to the next question:

_How will you implement what you have learned in Imladris in your professional practice?_

Would it be possible to answer this question without resorting to sarcasm? Boromir reckoned that he had been very restrained so far and might be allowed to indulge himself a little. He wrote:

_In my future professional practice, I will trust in courage and chance rather than strategic planning and rational preparation. I will always take my time, no matter how urgent my errand. Then, when it is almost too late, I will make great haste. I will reject any prudent course of action with some vague hints about potential dangers and then pursue a much more dangerous option instead, claiming that it just cannot be helped. I will discuss highly confidential matters behind closed doors but with open windows. I will rely on gut feeling rather than logical deduction. For key positions, I will pick the least qualified candidates, working on the assumption that they have hidden qualities which even the wise cannot tell. I will –_

He hesitated and read over what he had written. Hastily, he scribbled out the last box and wrote into the margin: _With discretion._ Now onto the last page.

 _How suitable did you find the accommodation?_ He looked at the piles of leaves that had accumulated just that day in every corner of the room. _If you had rectangular windows instead of fancy curly ones,_ he wrote, _you’d be able to fit window panes. This would also cut down on your heating bills._

That seemed to be pretty much it. He considered briefly commenting on the lack of security. After all, they had allowed him into the house and even into the Council without any kind of proof that he actually was who he claimed to be. But he felt he had been critical enough and should probably close on a more positive note. He pondered.

 _The catering was very good,_ he wrote at long last into the box for general comments, _especially the little pink cakes with the almonds on top._

Two hours later, the company was finally ready to start their journey. They were supposed to leave Imladris secretly, so just to mark his disapproval of the general ineffectiveness, Boromir blew a mighty note on his horn. Back in the Last Homely Home, having taken only seventy-seven years to not quite finish his first book, Bilbo decided to start another one.


	4. How to Travel With Cunning and Great Skill

With noble hearts and impractical minds, the company sallied forth from Rivendell. Any esteemed readers who now visualise sweeping mountain vistas, perhaps inspired by fine examples of cinematography, are in for a disappointment, though. For fear that the Enemy might use birds as spies, the company only travelled at night. Apparently, it had never yet occurred to the Enemy to use bats as spies, or perhaps it just hadn’t occurred to Gandalf that it might occur to the Enemy; in any case the following few weeks were spent in darkness. Eventually, though, they attempted to cross the Misty Mountains at a particularly precarious place. None of the company were kitted out for mountaineering, but at least Boromir thought of taking some firewood.

“You know what would be a great invention?” said Pippin as they trudged through the snow. “Some kind of strong rope strung along a line of masts, and you could use it to pull little seats up the side of the mountain. Or they could even be suspended from the rope. Just think, how great it would be to float up the mountain side!”

“Don’t be silly, Pippin,” said Merry. “Nobody in Middle-earth has such magic.”

“They have magic that makes a river flood on command,” muttered Pippin sulkily.

Unsurprisingly, the company was very soon stuck in a snow drift. Boromir urged them to descend from the mountain, but Gandalf encouraged them to lie down in the snow and take a drink of liquor, as this is the recommended procedure in such cases. Several avalanches later, however, even Gandalf had to admit grudgingly – oh, so grudgingly! – that Boromir had been right. The two men employed themselves as snow ploughs, eliciting from Boromir a grumbled comment about bodies having to serve where heads had failed. Elf, dwarf, pony, wizard, Merry, Pippin and Sam followed in their wake.

“And why am I always getting rescued last?” asked Frodo curtly. “You’d think I was the least important member of the Company. I have half a mind just to stay up here.”

“If you disagree with the leadership’s decisions,” said Aragorn as he flung Frodo over his shoulder, “you can fill in a complaint form once you’re back at Rivendell.”

Back at base camp, Gandalf excelled with one of his famous stating-the-obvious quips.

“That was no ordinary blizzard. It would appear that the Redhorn Pass is watched!”

“Who would have thought it?” said Boromir with dripping sarcasm. “ _Now_ are we going to go via Rohan?”

Gandalf stroked his beard and hummed and hawed. “No,” he said at last. “The Ring should not come too close to Saruman.”

“But the Gap of Rohan is easily fifty miles wide!”

“So? We’d have to travel across the land of the horse lords. So, okay, they’ve been our friends for hundreds of years, but these are dangerous times, and maybe they’ve turned nasty since we last saw them. We will go through the mines of Moria instead. Nothing to fear there other than a few… well, goblins, and lethal chasms and rock slides and perhaps a prehistoric demon or two…”

Boromir rolled his eyes. “So, let me get this right: We will descend into an orc-infested hell-hole because _perhaps_ our allies in Rohan can be no longer trusted? And why don’t we know for sure? Wouldn’t this have been a job for those scouts on whose account we delayed our departure for so long? What exactly did they scout out?”

“I am not discussing this with you anymore,” replied Gandalf and stomped off.

“Are you not even going to do a risk assessment about this?” Boromir screamed after him. “You total nutcases!”

“Peace, Boromir!” cried Gandalf over his shoulder. “We cannot risk the Rohan road.”

“Then why not go south and come up to Minas Tirith from the sea?”

Aragorn laid a hand on Boromir’s arm. “That would take a year. We haven’t got a year.”

“Teacher’s pet,” hissed Boromir.

oOoOoOo

_A little while later in Barad-dûr_

“Are you sure you hired enough wargs?” asked the Mouth of Sauron.

“Of course I did,” replied Sauron testily. “A great host. They’ll make short shrift of that rag-tag band of adventurers.”

“How are you going to get the Ring back here, though? Wargs don’t carry bags.”

“Um.” Sauron stared into the Palantir, which failed to provide a snappy comeback. “Stop nagging, will you? Always so negative!”

“Okay, okay. Look here they come now.”

“Warg attack! Warg attack!” squealed Sauron. “Get them, get them, pewww, pewww, pewww!”

“Pewww, pewww, pewww? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How should I know? Ha, look at those wargs making short…or perhaps being driven back a little…they’ll recover, though…damn, that’s another one down…wargs can still win this…wargs can – Don’t run, you wusses! Get back in there! Don’t you dare let me down! Wargs! Oh, shit, shit, shit…”

“Told you you should have hired more wargs,” said the Mouth of Sauron primly.

“Get off my back, will you? Look at that Gandalf, he’s just gone and started a forest fire, why don’t you go and upbraid him for this environmental vandalism?”

The Palantir went dark.

oOoOoOo

_Some time later at the west door of Moria._

“ _Speak, friend, and enter._ Rats, it’s password protected.”

“No problem,” said Gandalf. “I know about two hundred possible passwords for this, each of them with only about a dozen variations. Let me just try until I find the right one.”

“That’s your plan?” grumbled Boromir. “But taking the coastal route would take too long? All I can say is, I’m glad we don’t use your methods in Gondor.” He slumped down on a convenient bolder and slowly counted under his breath to calm himself. By the time he had reached 7543, several things happened. Gandalf had given up trial-and-error and to everyone’s surprise had applied logic instead, with the result that the door actually opened, however, before anyone could decide whether they were delighted or dismayed about this, Frodo was attacked by a would-be-Cthulu, was rescued as per usual, whereafter everyone hurried into the tunnel, the Cthulu creature slammed and blocked the door behind them and Gandalf immediately began to lament the loss of two trees, never mind that he’d that very day burnt down at least two hundred.

“Talk me through that again,” said Merry. “The password was just ‘friend’?”

“Yes, in those days they didn’t care so much about the strength of their passwords,” replied Gandalf with a nostalgic note in his voice. “Nowadays of course it would have to include numbers and capital letters and all that malarkey.”

“But shouldn’t it then have said _Speak quotation mark friend quotation mark and enter,_ rather than _Speak comma friend comma and enter_?”

“They were also less pedantic about punctuation. And now let us go. We have several days’ march through this mine ahead of us.”

“You know what would be a great invention?” said Pippin. “Carts that could go on some kind of fixed path, like if you put down two rails parallel to each other. We could be through this mine in no time!”

“Ah, my dear Pippin,” replied Gandalf, “that would be beyond the skills of even the wisest of elves.”

“Why, is it harder than making swords that glow in the dark when orcs are near?”

“Hush, I need to find the right path.” Gandalf had stopped before a parting in the road. Three tunnels opened up in front of them; one up, one down, one strange. Stroking his beard, Gandalf muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Eenie, meenie, miny, mo” and then pointed at one of the tunnels. “We should take this way; it smells better.”

“How is that a sensible criterion?”

“My heart tells me –”

“Perhaps your heart should talk less and listen more,” snapped Frodo.

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in Rivendell_

Lindir and Erestor were sitting on a carved stone parapet idly kicking their feet in the wholesome elvish air.

“You know,” said Lindir, “I can’t help thinking that we didn’t really explore all options before the Fellowship set off.”

“What do you mean?” replied Erestor. “We did what we could. The evaluation forms were on the whole very positive.” Given the gushing comments from the Hobbit Gamgee, Erestor felt he could be forgiven for making no reference to Boromir’s form.

“Still. For example, if the whole idea was secrecy, why didn’t they dress up? They could have disguised themselves as tinkers or, better still, as a travelling circus. It would have been plausible enough, given the diverse composition of the group, and I know for a fact that Legolas can do all sorts of tricks on the tight-rope. ”

“Hm. Perhaps. Come to think of it, it had crossed my mind that they could have travelled much faster if they had taken boats down the Bruinen and then the Gwathlo and then sailed along the coast to South Gondor. That would have had the added bonus of confusing the Enemy about their ultimate destination.”

“Well, on the river they may have been more easily spotted.”

“Then we should have sent out multiple parties in various directions, to fool any spies of the Enemy and make him divide his forces. And each party could have carried a fake Ring.”

Lindir furrowed his exquisite brow. “Wouldn’t the servants of the Enemy know which one was the real Ring? Doesn’t it have some sort of aura or suchlike? We would have needed to disguise that aura somehow.”

“Yes!” Erestor almost jumped into the gorge with excitement. “We should have done that anyway. A magical locket to contain the power of the Ring that would stop the servants of the Enemy from being drawn to it and at the same time protect the Ringbearer from any ill effect! Why didn’t we think of that!”

“I don’t know. That seems a tricky gadget to make.”

“Trickier than a spell that hides the whole valley from the eyes of the Enemy?”

“Oh, well, you know what it’s like with Elrond. He needs to be in the right mood, or his spells just don’t come off. Oh, there he is now!” Lindir quickly gave himself the air of someone who had not just been bitching about the management. “Master Elrond, we were just talking about how delectable the air is at this time of year.”

“I have toothache,” said Elrond and walked past.

oOoOoOo

_A few days later on the other side of the Misty Mountains_

“I suppose that could have gone better,” conceded Aragorn. “Especially since Gandalf had all the travellers cheques in his pocket. We need to find a cash machine soon. I think there is one in Lothlorien.”

“Is that all you can think of, money?” wailed Pippin through his tears. “We’re going to miss Gandalf so much! His battered old hat…”

“…his incessant smoking…” added Sam.

“…his cryptic and long-winded explanations…” chimed in Merry.

“…the way he never listened to any sensible advice…”

“…the time he took to make a decision, any decision…”

“…his pompous smugness…”

“…his, eh, way of bossing people around…”

“…his body odour…”

“His smile!” interrupted Frodo pointedly.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, his smile…”

“Be that as it may,” said Aragorn, “we have to get going. We must reach Lothlorien before nightfall, because, well, orcs.”

“So now we are travelling in daylight?” asked Gimli.

“Yes, for a little while, until I change my mind again.”

They hurried down the mountainside while Legolas was gushing in his descriptions of Lothlorien. “I know they have had some bad reviews on TripAdvisor, but they must have been from trolls. Of course we’ve not really come at the best time of year…”

“…so, okay, this blindfolding thing is awkward, but it’s all part of the experience, isn’t it?” he added a little later.

“…and perhaps they could do with some updates to their infrastructure,” he acknowledged as the hobbits struggled across the rope bridge.

“…but have you ever seen such trees!” he ended triumphantly when they finally arrived at the city of the Galadrim.

The hobbits had to admit that they hadn’t.

“Perhaps some railings, though…” suggested Merry timidly.

“Railings!” sneered Legolas. “Railings are for wimps.” And he ran up the winding stair into the tree, taking three steps at a time.

oOoOoOo

Soft mist lay on the waters. The scent of the forest mingled with the clear and wholesome smell of the river. The golden light, seemingly coming from nowhere, gave a magical glow to the grass along the shore. From under the boughs of the forest, where the river entered the meadow as through a green archway, emerged a magnificent boat in the shape of a swan. White it shone, pristine and otherworldly. Soundlessly it glided along, while enchanting music drifted through the morning air.

“Ooops,” said Galadriel suddenly. A ripple of vexation passed over her perfect brow.

“What now?” said Celeborn. “I mean, what distresses you, vanimelda?”

“I forgot to prepare a gift for the dwarf. I thought I had ticked off everyone on the list, but I must have missed a line.”

“So what,” replied Celeborn. “He should count himself lucky that we fed and housed him for four weeks. Even if he’d booked that through Airbnb, it would have cost him a small fortune. Just send him packing.”

“No, no, this simply won’t do,” said Galadriel. “This would be a most awkward time for a diplomatic Incident. I will have to keep all the gifts I prepared for the other members of the Fellowship. Quick, hide them under the bench!”

“There’s no need for that, vanimelda. Just ask him to name the gift he would like.”

“That’s some risk to take!”

“Not at all. People who are invited to choose their own gift are always too embarrassed to name anything valuable. Out of sheer politeness, they pick something ridiculously minor. Mark my word, you tell him to choose anything he wants from this entire realm and he’ll ask for a mallorn leaf or a pebble from the River Nimrodel or some such sentimental nonsense.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Trust me; it’ll work.”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in Barad-dûr_

“We are rapidly running out of options, boss,” said the Mouth of Sauron as he crossed ‘balrog’ and ‘mountain orcs’ off his list.

“Ah, but they’ve lost their queen,” replied Sauron.

“What queen?”

“Chess metaphor, Mouthy. The old wizard. Without him, it’ll be check mate in no time.”

“Yes, but for whom?” mumbled the Mouth of Sauron. He closed his notebook and decided to have a long, hot bath. With extra pine needle extract.

oOoOoOo

_Later that day, back at Caras Galadon_

“It was you own idea, Celeborn!”

“Yes, yes, but he wasn’t supposed to choose a hair from your head. An actual hair! What does he want with that? What’s been going on between the two of you? And incidentally, where were you on Tuesday evening when you came to bed so very late?”

“Don’t you dare start this kind of thing again, Celeborn. Don’t you dare!”


	5. How Quickly It All Falls Apart

_In the strategy room at Barad-dûr_

“Just thinking out loud, here, my lord…” began the Mouth of Sauron.

“About what?” snapped the rest of Sauron, feeling unduly disturbed in his struggle with the daily Sudoku in the Mordor Herald.

“Perhaps…since we are still not entirely sure of what their plans really are…perhaps just a tiny little guard on Orodruin? In case they try to get to the Cracks of Doom and destroy the Ring? It needn’t be a large guard; I have taken the liberty of drawing up a rota of –”

“Oh, you and your endless doomsday scenarios! It’s very unpatriotic of you to talk down our country like this. You seem to forget that we have our new secret weapon, the fell beasts! Even if they should be idiotic enough to attempt Mount Doom, the fell beasts would swiftly snap them up.”

“Well, _you_ seem to forget that those fell beast would still be ridden by the same numpties,” muttered the Mouth of Sauron under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. You have two nines in the second row.”

“Blast it!”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in a nearly-magic boat on the Great River_

“What are you thinking about, Aragorn?” asked Frodo.

“Oh, this and that. Um, I mean, portends of doom weigh heavily on my mind.”

“For example?”

“Well, first of all, there is this little issue of the creature Gollum tracking us. I have known this for a long time but didn’t bother telling anyone. Didn’t want to spoil…um…your enjoyment of the nice scenery. And I have made a couple of half-hearted attempts at catching him, but he eluded me, so I’m going to call it a day and just let him tag along. You’ll get used to it. What else? Oh, yes, I’ve got another couple of nice little bottlenecks lined up for us. First the Sarn Gebir portage way and then the Argonath. Both would be excellent places for the enemy to attack. Though on the whole I think they won’t.”

“Why?”

“My heart tells me this.”

“Your heart gets quite chatty at times, doesn’t it?” mumbled Frodo. Aragorn ignored him and continued, furiously rowing: “So I am really wondering what unfortunate decision I could take next. Oh, I know, I’ll let you wander off by yourself at Amon Hen. That’ll give any passing orcs a sporting chance to capture you.”

“Why?”

“We’ve got to play fair, Frodo! Also, you know: plot.”

“I despair,” said Frodo with a sigh.

“No! You must never despair. You, most of all, must keep up hope. Hope is the most important treasure of all. Did I ever tell you that my childhood name –”

“Yes.”

“– was Estel–”

“I know.”

“–which means–”

“Hope.”

“–Hope, and before she died–”

“…your mother said, I know.”

“–my mother said–”

“You’ve told me this before.”

“ _I gave Hope to the_ _Dúnedain, I kept none to myself._ ”

“Thank you, Aragorn, a very uplifting story.” Frodo turned to Sam. “Do you have any aspirin?”

oOoOoOo

_Once again in the strategy room at Barad-dûr_

“Apparently it was shot down by a single arrow.”

“Fell right out of the sky, did it? That’s not what I had in mind when I named them ‘fell’ beasts.”

“There were bound to be teething problems, my lord.”

“Oh, well, no matter. I take it the orcs got their hands on those wretched halflings?”

“The messenger couldn’t say.”

“Why is this blasted palantir taking so long to load?”

“I’ll get the technician to look at it later, my lord. But see, it’s loaded now. It would appear that…our orcs…there seems to be a little disagreement with the Isengard contingent…well, that’ll soon be sorted…mind you…looks like Saruman’s orcs have the upper hand…wait, what are they doing?”

“They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!” Sauron slammed his coffee cup on the table, spilling coffee everywhere. “Damnation, Saruman will get his dirty mitts on the Ring.”

“I’ll get some kitchen roll,” offered the Mouth of Sauron. “Perhaps this would be a good time to use the winged nazgûl. They could catch up with those uruks in no time. The Ring could be here tonight.”

“No, not the winged nazgûl. They mustn’t cross the river yet.”

“Why not?”

“What’s life without whimsy?”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile beside the pitiful body of Boromir_

“Shouldn’t we go after the young hobbits immediately?”

“My dear Gimli, I am disappointed in you,” said Aragorn with stern mien, while Legolas frowned photogenically to show his support. “We must not ever neglect proper decorum. It’s what sets us apart from the Enemy.”

“I thought our noble hearts and kindly intent set us apart?”

Legolas kicked Gimli’s ankle and mimed for him to be quiet. Aragorn, momentarily confused, replied, “Well, yes, that too, but still, proper decorum. We can’t leave Boromir’s body here to rot.”

“Even if it means the death of the halflings?”

“Oh, it won’t be as bad as that. A little adventure won’t do them much harm.”

Hours later, after the body of Boromir had been subjected to much grooming and some tastefully applied make-up, Gimli looked down on the funeral boat and desperately suppressed an urge to stroke his beard in a clichéd gesture of musing.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Is this a good idea? As far as I can see, the moment the boat goes over the edge of the waterfall, poor Boromir’s body will tumble out of the boat and float down the river like any other drowned body, and where’s the decorum then?”

“Sh, Gimli,” whispered Legolas. “You must think of the cinematic potential here. The slow glide to the edge, the increasing roar of the water, then the sudden plunge: it’ll look awesome.”

“But shouldn’t we at least strap him in?”

“There’s no time for that,” snapped Aragorn. “We must make haste and follow the trail of the uruks.”

oOoOoOo

_Somewhere near the borders of Rohan_

“Do you know what would be a really great invention?” said Pippin while every bone in his body was shaken by the rough jog of the uruk that carried him. “Some small device that would send out a signal which the others could receive. If we carried such a device, they could track us easily.”

Merry, too nearly unconscious to give a coherent reply, merely muttered something about it being beyond the crafts of even the wisest of elves.

“If I am not mistaken,” huffed Pippin, “that is exactly what that stupid Ring does. And now we have to rely on Aragorn’s tracking skills. Valar help us.”

oOoOoOo

_Still in the strategy room at Barad-dûr_

The Mouth of Sauron was struggling to peer over Sauron’s shoulder to see the image on the palantir.

“My lord, it’s not good for your eye to sit so close to the stone. May I…?”

He tried to insinuate himself into a better position but Sauron shoved him aside without ceremony. After a short and highly indecorous tussle the Mouth of Sauron stepped back and decided to try a different tack.

“What do you observe, my lord? Do they carry the Ring?”

“How should I know? They could have it in their pocketses, I mean, pockets, or under their shirts.”

The Mouth of Sauron considered this. “But my lord. Can you not see through their clothing?”

“No.”

“No? What happened to _his gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth and flesh_ …?”

Sauron glanced up from the palantir, looking slightly embarrassed. “Well, you know how it is. X-ray vision is extortionately expensive. I had to economise.”

_“You_ had to economise? But you’re the Dark Lord!”

“Dark, but, alas, not economically powerful. In fact, the rebuilding of Barad-dûr has left me with a pile of debt.”

“You owe money?”

“Rather a lot, I’m afraid.”

“To whom?”

“Oh, Saruman, the Seraph of Kûz, some enterprising dwarves in the Blue Mountains… In fact, last month I had to mortgage the Black Gate so I could pay the staff.”

“My lord, I am shocked!”

“How does this surprise you? Surely you can see that our service industry is hopelessly outdated, manufacture is in decline and we have no major exports apart from nameless terror. You didn’t think that those measly tributes from Rhun and Harad are enough to keep our economy afloat?”

“I confess I’ve never given much thought to it.”

Sauron scuffed. “Yeah, of course you haven’t. I’m surrounded by amateurs. Here, make yourself useful, pass me my monocle.”

oOoOoOo

_Later that day in the top chamber of Orthanc_

Saruman was silently weeping into his pillow about the loss of his beautiful uruks. His personal orc valet picked up the palantir from where the wizard has tossed it on the sofa.

“I wish there was some nice thriller on,” he said.

oOoOoOo

_Some other time, somewhere completely different_

“Let’s put it this way,” Frodo whispered into Sam’s ear. “He’s got these two advantages over Gandalf as a tour guide: He knows the way to Mordor because he’s been there before and he’s actually eager to get there quickly.”

“But he has this terribly annoying way of talking to himself,” objected Sam.

“You mean unlike Gandalf?”

“Okay, point taken.”

oOoOoOo

_A couple of days later in Rohan._

Gandalf extended a long, white finger to point straight ahead. “There lies the city of Edoras, capital of the Rohirrim. As you will remember, I categorically refused to set foot into Rohan when Boromir suggested it, because I wasn’t sure whether the Rohirrim could still be trusted.”

“But you have since had word that they remain faithful?” asked Legolas with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Oh, no, I’m still totally clueless about where they stand.”

“So why…?”

“It’s about time we stepped up the drama a little. All this going about on foot is getting lame, excuse the pun. We will soon enter battle, and how would that look, if it was just the four of us walking? No, no, we need to ride in with a great host.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m not sure, but the only place we can find out more is Edoras.”

“Let’s make haste to reach it then!” said Gimli.

“Not yet,” said Gandalf. “Remember, my dear Gimli: no matter how urgent our errand or how desperate our plight, there’s always time for a history lecture, some comments on comparative linguistics and a poetry recital. Aragorn, you’re up!”


	6. Just Improvise!

_On the plains of Rohan_

“See, I told you,” said Gandalf with his usual modest demeanour. “Fresh air and exercise was all you needed. It’s the vitamin D. Of course only the wisest of the wise know about these things.”

“Thanks, I owe you, Gandalf,” replied Theoden. “Actually, now you mention it, I did read this book once about a boy who was ill in bed and couldn’t walk and then his cousin came and showed him a garden that had been locked up, and then he was well again. Much the same idea, don’t you think?”

“Are you saying that Gandalf the White takes his advice from children’s books?”

“Of course not!” Sheepishly, Theoden let his horse fall a little behind to leave Gandalf in the lead. After all, he wasn’t exactly sure where they were going and what they could expect to find there, but he reckoned Gandalf probably knew. Probably. Hopefully. Nobody else seemed to know exactly what kind of campaign the hosts of Rohan had just embarked on, least of all the King of Rohan. Everything was still a bit hazy in Theoden’s head. He wished he had insisted on a solid breakfast and some strong coffee, but Gandalf had decided they had wasted enough time with the singing songs about Lothlorien and comparing swords and thus would only be able to take “such refreshments as haste allows,” which turned out to be a couple of breakfast biscuits and a mandarin.

A little further back, riding pillion on their tandem horse, Gimli was flicking through the brochures he had picked up at the Edoras Tourist Office. He raised an eyebrow at MEET THE PUKELMEN OF DUNHARG because something seemed not quite politically correct about that, and then opened the pamphlet titled MEDUSELD – VISIT THE GOLDEN HALL AND FIND OUT HOW TO CIRCUMVENT ITS SECURITY PROTOCOLS.

“Hey, Legolas,” he said after a while, “did you know those banners we saw aren’t actually tapestries but embroideries? Says here they depict a total of 365 warriors and 354-and-a-half horses, the half horse being –”

“Spare me the details, “cried Legolas. “I’ve had enough embroidery talk from Arwen at Rivendell to last me a few decades.”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in the Dead Marshes_

“Now here’s the end of those there awful marshes, and not a moment too soon, Master Frodo, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I do mind you saying!” snapped Frodo. “What’s with the stating the obvious all the time!”

“Aw, Frodo, me luv, don’t be cross. I’m trying me best here, as always.”

“As always? You mean you were doing your best when you _forgot_ that you had a rope with you?”

“Well, I did remember in the end and –”

“And you were doing your best when you and Gollum charged ahead barely noticing that I had fallen way behind? I could have drowned there for all you cared. May I remind you that I am the Ringbearer and, incidentally, your master?”

“Master, Ringbearer, yada, yada, yada,” grumbled Sam under his breath.

“Come now, hobbitses!” Gollum cheerfully gesticulated southwards. “Fresh disappointments lie ahead!”

“Okay, okay. Are we travelling by night or by day at the moment? Just when are orcs more dangerous?”

Gollum shook his head. “Nice master mustn’t worry his pretty little head about that. Leave it to Smeagol, yes, precious!”

“Whatever.”

oOoOoOo

_Around the same time in Fangorn Forest_

“Are they still talking?” Merry sighed and tried to pick the sticky willies off his waistcoat. “What day is it even? I have completely lost track of time.”

“You know what would be a great invention?” said Pippin. “A pocket watch that doesn’t only tell the hour, but also the date.”

Quickbeam shook his head, shedding a rain of bugs and caterpillars in the process. “My dear young Pippin, that would be beyond the skill of even the Lady of the Golden Wood to accomplish.”

“What, more difficult than unsinkable boats?”

“Never mind,” said Merry. “What kind of plan do you think they are discussing, Quickbeam?”

“Plan? Oh, I don’t think there’s going to be a plan exactly. Not as such. I think once they’ve made up their minds to get involved, the Ents will march out and then just do what springs to mind.”

“Is that prudent?”

“It’s how we’ve always done things. If it takes days to decide whether to act or not, can you imagine how long actual planning would take?”

“I can see now why Treebeard is a friend of Gandalf’s,” muttered Pippin.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

oOoOoOo

_Barad-dûr, the canteen_

“How’s you ankle, Witchy?”

“It’s fine.”

“Only I noticed you’re still limping a bit. Must be a bummer, being shot out of the sky like that. Does it hurt much?”

“I _said_ it’s _fine_!”

“Okay, okay.” Jasûn put his tray of stir-fried worms and lava brew on the black formica table and slid into the booth beside the Witch King. “Using italics twice in the same sentence suggest otherwise, but whatever. Anyway, how’s it coming?”

The Witch King removed a piece of peanut shell from his gum and grumbled something about strangling the bloody cook. “We’ve got it under control.”

“So the Halflings have been recaptured by our forces?”

“No, but we know who has them.”

“Oh, still that ‘They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard’ malarkey?”

“Yes, and knowing the Ring in the hands of our ally is the second best thing to having it ourselves.”

“And Saruman agreed to relinquish it to us?”

“Not in so many words. But the boss has been on the palantir with him all night.”

“Hm.” Jasûn twisted another mouthful of worms around his fork. “Shame we don’t have any actual leverage, don’t you think? I mean, if that blasted wizard decides to keep the Ring, what exactly are we going to do about it?”

“We’ll think of something.”

“When?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

oOoOoOo

_Still in Rohan_

“What do you mean, leave? Now? Whatever for?”

“Theoden, Theoden,” said Gandalf. “Isn’t it obvious? I need to go and get Erkenbrandt and all those scattered warriors.”

“Gandalf, we have literally this very minute been told they are on their way to Helm’s Deep.”

“I bet he isn’t.”

“Even if he isn’t already, Erkenbrandt knows to rally there when he can.”

“Maybe he’ll forget.”

“What?”

“Maybe he can’t remember the way.”

“Gandalf, it’s his own fortress!”

“Nevertheless, I must speed away on Shadowfax this very moment. I have great need of haste.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Gandalf’s eyes flashed in anger. “I forgot my pipe at Edoras. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“But–”

“JUST RIDE ALREADY TO HELM’S DEEP AND BAR THE FLIPPING DOORS! SURELY YOU CAN MANAGE THAT!”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in Isengard_

Saruman briefly considered locking up the palantir in the safe but decided he couldn’t be bothered walking up all those stairs again, so he just left it in an empty biscuit tin on the kitchen counter. Then he looked out the window at the utter destruction below. So, okay, this hadn’t gone quite according to plan. But never mind, orcs were three a penny, and besides he had just seen in the stone that Gandalf was foolishly taking the whole Rohirric host to Isengard with the vague promise that there they might see unspecified strange things.

“I’ll give them strange,” Saruman hissed. “Just wait and see.” But he couldn’t help feeling that he had lost control of the whole situation and that maybe, just maybe, he had left out a few crucial factors in his calculations.

Down by the wreckage of the gates two hobbits sat, smoking like chimneys.

Legolas wrinkled his exquisite nose. “Jeez, Pippin, have you never heard about the dangers of passive smoking? Give me some air!”

However, since Gimli and Aragorn happily joined in the reckless air pollution, Legolas figuratively held his nose and sat down beside them. It was good to catch up with friends after all, and the catering was better than at Edoras. Before long – no, tell a lie, _after_ a lengthy period of battle talk and general gossip, they were summoned by Gandalf.

“Come on, lads, we’re all going to see Saruman now. But I must warn you, he has this freaking hypnotic voice that can seriously mess with your heads. It’s very dangerous.”

“Shouldn’t we better stay here then,” asked Gimli, “since there is no actual need for us to be there? Can’t you talk with him alone?”

“Oh, nonsense, I want everybody to come along. You never know what might happen.”

“That’s precisely what bothers me here,” said Gimli.

Aragorn cast him a stern look. “You heard Gandalf,” he said. “To the tower, chop, chop.”

oOoOoOo

_Some time later in Barad-dûr_

“And can you believe those idiots at the White Council never even asked themselves what had happened to the Orthanc palantir?” 

Expecting approval, the Witch King looked at his fellow nazgûl. Jordûn and Rûmeo appeared suitably impressed, but Khamûl scoffed.

“Really? How do you know that?”

“Well, they had all their meetings at Isengard in the very same chamber where Saruman had stashed it, and since he always forgets to log out, the palantir was permanently on stand-by. It just took a little trick to listen in on all their conversations. I had Mouthy keep minutes. Haha, the little halfwits!”

The Witch King slapped his thighs and roared with laughter but pulled himself together quickly when Sauron entered the room.

“Well then, gentlemen,” said the Dark Lord, “let’s have a wee glimpse, shall we?” He lifted the cover off the palantir and everyone took seats around the table. Nothing happened.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, your Darklordship, it’s password protected now. I felt that we should improve our cybersecurity.” The Mouth of Sauron leaned over the stone and whispered, “Password 123. There, your Darklordship.”

The palantir lit up and a face swam into focus.

“Hey, that’s not Saruman. It’s one of them halfpints!”

“Thank you for pointing that out, Jûnior.” Sauron’s voice was carefully calm but he cast the youngest nazgûl a withering look. He turned his monocled eye back to the palantir. In his most menacing tone, he said, “Tell Saruman it’s not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that.”

He rubbed his hands as he leaned back in his chair. “There now, gentlemen! We know where the Ring is, and this very night it shall be mine! Witchy, get a fell beast saddled!”

“May I just point out,” said the Mouth of Sauron, “that you are jumping to conclusions a little? Shouldn’t you at least have questioned the Halfling? After all there were four of them, and you didn’t even ask his name.”

“Nonsense, nonsense. Saruman captured the ringbearer and made him face me. Why else would a Halfling be looking into the stone? It was obviously meant as a torture.”

“It’s not that obvious to me,” insisted Mouth. “Perhaps a captured Halfling has escaped in Orthanc and has found the stone by chance, or perhaps–”

“Always with your doom and gloom, Mouth. Cheer up! Well, gentlemen, I think this calls for a celebratory round of Trivial Pursuit, don’t you think?”


	7. Never Mind the Details

_Somewhere in Ithilien_

Ah, yes! Sam Gamdgee, who always had his priorities right, felt entirely vindicated for his decision to bring two “small” pans, each big enough to hold a whole rabbit, on a thousand mile hike. Never mind that they took up so much space in his pack that he had been obliged to go without insignificant commodities such as a blanket or a change of underpants. Here, just as he had anticipated, were two whole rabbits to be dealt with, and it would have been absolutely criminal to roast them over a fire.

“Sam, what about the fire?” said Frodo while they washed the dishes after their delightful dinner. “Did you put it out?”

“Um…”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in the Rohirric camp_

So first Gandalf had been dreadfully worried about the incident with the palantir. There was a danger that people might actually question his competence and ask why he hadn’t guarded it better, but he had manged to deflect from this issue very quickly and to cast a positive light on the whole wretched episode by explaining how useful it was to actually know what the connection between Orthanc and Barad-dûr had been, though, mind you, it would have actually been more useful to know this before the betrayal of Saruman and the total destruction of Orthanc, but still, and anyway, it was actually great that Pippin had looked into the stone, because otherwise perhaps he, Gandalf, could have looked into it, accidentally revealing himself to Sauron, since he had actually never considered that Sauron might have got his hands onto a magic trinket like that and actually –

“You say ‘actually’ way too often, Gandalf,” Theoden pointed out.

“That’s not actually true, Theoden, I only actually – oh.”

“Never mind,” butted in Aragorn in a valiant attempt to save the wizard’s face. “This is actua– this is _my_ Seeing Stone, what with me being King of Gondor and all, so hand it over, will you?”

“Of course, of course,” muttered Gandalf, only marginally flustered.

“Not wanting to blow my own trumpet,” said Aragorn after dinner, while Legolas passed round the little chocolates wrapped in gold foil, “but I did an extremely clever thing this afternoon. I revealed myself to Sauron in the palantir and challenged him to a telepathic tussle. Now he knows there’s a king in Gondor again, which will make him attack Minas Tirith instantly and thus draw his forces away from Mordor and from Frodo. Am I a strategic genius or what?”

“Isn’t that going to be a bit unpleasant for the poor people of Minas Tirith, though?” asked Theoden.

“Nah, they have me to defend them now,” replied Aragorn with a regal shrug.

“But you are three hundred miles away from Minas Tirith.”

“So I am, rats. You wouldn’t happen to know of any shortcut?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” piped up Elladan. “Dad says to tell you that there is a brilliant shortcut, but I’m supposed to be really ominous and portentous about it, so here goes…”

“Isn’t that exactly the same distance?” asked Aragorn after the shortcut was explained.

“Probably, but it gives you a chance to be all kingy and destiny-ridden.”

“Okay then.”

oOoOoOo

_Another day, another camp_

“Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten us into, Sam," hissed Frodo.

“How was I to know that the fire would make so much smoke?” Sam hissed back.

Frodo cast him a withering look, then he turned his back on Sam and struck up an amicable conversation with their two guards, who introduced themselves as Mablung and Damrod. They were Rangers of Ithilien and they happily chatted away to their prisoners about their intended ambush of the Haradrim.

“And,” said Frodo casually, “are you always so lackadaisical about your military secrets?”

“Oopsies…”

oOoOoOo

_On a balcony overlooking the Plateau of Gorgoroth_

The Mouth of Sauron rustled with the scroll and squinted into the distance.

“Well, your Darklordship, looking at this here map, it seems there is a road leading all the way up to the Cracks of Doom. Shouldn’t that better be demolished?

“No, no.”

“Why not?”

“In case I ever want to forge another ring. Something a little less plain, perhaps red gold and platinum, with an embossed pattern of flaming eyes, sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“But your Darklordship, what if our foes should attempt to destroy the Ring?”

“Really, Mouthy, I am sick and tired of your doomsday scenarios. Talk about Project Fear! It’ll be the fault of premoaners like you if Brexit fails.”

“Your Darklordship…?”

“The war, I mean the war. Now, let’s take back control!”

oOoOoOo

_One the road to Minas Tirth_

Pippin clung on for dear life, trying not to think too much about the chafing in his nether regions. But eventually he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Can we not take a break, Gandalf? I need a wee.”

“Fool of a Took! We must warn the people of Gondor that Sauron will attack.”

“Do they not have scouts and stuff? I mean, they can hardly believe that they’re on cosy terms with their nasty neighbour, can they? They are well prepared, aren’t they? What exactly are we going to tell them that will make them do anything differently?”

Gandalf pretended he hadn’t heard.

“You know what would be a great invention?” said Pippin. “A method of encoding words into a series of long and short signals, and then stringing ropes between cities, and you could send a message just by giving long and short tugs to the rope. I’d call it ‘distance writer’ and it would come in really handy just now.”

“Really, Pippin, the ideas you have. Nobody in all of Arda could devise such a thing.”

“Ah, but they can make Seeing Stones – or ‘distance viewers’ as I would call them…”

Gandalf merely scoffed. Beneath him, the magic horse Shadowfax tried to hide his relief. Unthinkable, if anyone would take that hobbit’s ideas seriously! It would completely scupper his, Shadowfax’s, plans to establish a horse courier service between Gondor and Rohan. The Meara Express, he was going to call it, and to increase revenue he would hire out the hindquarters of the courier horses to be painted with advertising slogans. So many amazing messages that might be written on the butt of a horse…

oOoOoOo

_Still at the Rangers’ Hideout_

“Who do you think you are, just butting in like that?” Faramir growled.

“A prisoner you’ve left unguarded, is what I am,” replied Sam and parked his backside beside Frodo. “And I’ll thank ye for not insinuating that my master has anything to do with your brother kicking the bucket, if you get my drift. I’m staying right here.”

“Suit yourself. But I really want some answers. Why did your company travel on such perilous paths? Why did you attempt the most dangerous pass in the Misty Mountain, and then descend into an orc-infested hell hole and, is if that was not enough, then entrusted yourselves to the hippie queen’s psychedelic lala land? Why did you go on foot, and why did you not come via Rohan?”

“Well…” Frodo blushed a little with embarrassment. “That’s just what Boromir suggested, but…”

“But what?”

“But Gandalf thought it would be too dangerous.”

“Oh, for the love of –” Faramir smacked the side of his head in exasperation. “All right, enough. Come along, I need to show you something.”

He had his prisoners carefully blindfolded and led them to the mega-secret location, then proceeded to tell them exactly where this location was.

“Because, you know, I think I’m just going to trust you. Any friend of the wizard whose stupidity got my brother killed is a friend of mine…”

oOoOoOo

_The next day in the Morgul Vale_

“Well, gentlemen, this is it.” The Witch King surveyed his troops with satisfaction. “We are going to war. Long enough have we waited. The time for speeches is over, the time for action is come. No longer shall we hide behind the mountains. We will march on the City of Men and we will…”

_Three hours later_

“…will be trampled into dust and all their houses reduced to rubble and all their window boxes smashed and their flower beds urinated on and –”

“Witchy!” Khamûl elbowed him in the ribs. “I think that’s enough. The troops are getting restless, I mean, some of them have already asked to go to the toilet and we haven’t even left yet. Anyway, I have the strangest feeling that we’re not alone here.”

“Of course we’re not alone, we have a massive army sitting in front of us!”

“No, I mean someone else is here. My ear is itchy, and you know how I always get an itchy ear when there’s some important detail that we’re missing. It’s almost as if the Ring was nearby.”

“I’ll give you an itchy ear in a minute if you don’t shut up, Khamûl!” barked the Witch King, who didn’t appreciate having his oratory orgasm interrupted. “All right then, let’s go.”

And forth they marched, out of the loathsome city of Minas Morgul straight towards Minas Tirith, and also straight past Frodo, who was cowering miserably behind a rock.

“Now here’s a stroke of luck, Mister Frodo,” whispered Sam when the grim host had passed.

“Hm.” Frodo gazed down the road at the receding torches. “Yes, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt by now, it’s this: The only way useless heroes can win is if the villains are even uselesser.”

“More useless, precious, more useless,” muttered Gollum.


	8. With More Luck Than Sense

_In the tenebrous circles of Minas Tirith_

Gandalf and an increasingly disgruntled Pippin were staring darkly into the gloom, or gloomily into the darkness, whichever the esteemed reader may prefer.

“Do I understand you correctly,” said Pippin, “that Sauron cannot actually switch off the sun or even cause an eclipse, but that he merely makes it really, really overcast?”

“Yes, my dear Pippin, his arm has grown long indeed!”

“But, Gandalf, if the enemy just sends clouds to cover the land with darkness, couldn’t you do something about it, perhaps summon a wind from the sea to blow them black?”

“Bless your cotton socks, my dear Pippin,” replied Gandalf. “Your trust in my powers is very flattering. However, my strength lies more in forward planning and strategic decision making.”

“Ah. Can’t say I’d noticed.”

“What I _can_ do, though, is this.”

He pointed his staff at the plain and shot a dazzling light beam at a chaotic scene unfolding outside the city gates. Orcs, trolls and Ringwraiths on fell beasts scattered, allowing a bedraggled group of Gondorian soldiers to reach the safety of the citadel.

“You know what would be a really good idea?” said Pippin, with slightly less enthusiasm than previously. “Installing some very strong lights on the ramparts of the city, so we can see what’s going on out there. Something like that could also be used in peacetimes, perhaps to illuminate sporting events after dark or –”

“Oh, Pippin, Pippin!” Gandalf shook his head in exasperation. “Where do you get these ideas? Crafting strong light sources is a feat completely unheard of in all the history of Arda.”

“If you say so,” said Pippin with a glance at Gandalf’s staff. “Well, at least this magic light of yours will come in handy when we go into battle with the hosts of Mordor, considering how easily that nazgûl was scared off by it.”

“Who says I’ll be going into battle with you? No, no, my most cherished little hobbit, I plan on hanging around in the Houses of Healing and offer my invaluable assistance.”

“But, Gandalf, what purpose could you serve there?”

Gandalf, however, was already striding towards the aforementioned infirmary with an air of determination and smug self-importance that Pippin found more disturbing than he cared to admit.

“I was going to say, we have the White Wizard on our side,” he muttered to himself. “Not sure that’s going to count for much, though.”

oOoOoOo

_Somewhere in the enemy camp._

The Witch King stood with a clip board, ticking off names on a list.

“Khamûl?”

“Here.”

“Jasûn?”

“Here.”

“Jordûn?”

“Here.”

“Rûmeo?”

…

“Rûmeo?”

…

“Rûmeo?”

…

“Rûmeo?”

“Um, he’s sick,” offered Kevûn. “My fell beast’s groom’s sister-in-law’s cat’s dentist heard from this orc about this troll who saw Rûmeo puking in the bushes after our failed sortie at the city gates. Apparently he is a bit squeamish about blood.”

The Witch King dropped his pencil in disbelief. Hastily, Lûrri picked it up and proffered it to his boss with an appeasing gesture, but was kicked in the shin anyway. While he hopped about groaning softly, the Witch King made an emphatic cross on his register.

“I shall need an absence note from him,” he grumbled. “Now, brothers, to business. This is our plan: We will attack the city, break down the gate and kill everyone inside. Sounds good?”

A choir of Ringwraith voices replied in varying shades of approval. The Witch King nodded with grim satisfaction.

“Well, that’s that sorted then. But make sure to watch your back, what with all those ancient blades that we’ve seen of late. I, of course, cannot be killed.”

oOoOoOo

_Meanwhile in the Houses of Healing_

Three main characters and a large number of extras were struggling with the after effects of the Black Breath and general nazgûlness. Aragorn, having just given a lecture on comparative linguistics, told Ioreth that there was no time for speeches.

“What do you mean, speeches?” said Ioreth. “I am trying to make sure that we both have the same herb in mind. Given that it’s somewhat important in healing to get the correct medicine…”

“Oh, shut up and make haste,” barked Gandalf ‘The Procrastinator’ White. “You are just a minor character; leave the rambling to us. And we don’t need to hear from you either, Herb Master. We are quite capable of droning on about ancient lore ourselves, thank you very much.”

Ioreth and the Herb Master left the chamber and made their way to the herb stores, where they spent a few minutes venting about the abominable rudeness of those intruders. However, being professionals _and_ capable of multi-tasking, they simultaneously located the required herbs, wrapped them up in a cloth and made a note in the record book.

Some time later, having pulled Faramir back from the brink of death, Aragorn and Gandalf sat by the bedside of a grievously wounded Éowyn and enjoyed a lengthy chat about the woman’s life story and her virtues of character and person. After half an hour or so, they were interrupted by Éomer coughing pointedly.

“I am ever so sorry to disturb your fascinating discourse, gentlemen, and I do of course agree heartily with you about the merits of my sister, but wasn’t there something about making haste?”

Gandalf frowned, but at least Aragorn had the decency to look embarrassed and speedily began to crumble the athelas into the water basin.

“Oh, rats,” he said. “It’s gone cold. Get someone to bring us new hot water.”

Éomer shook his head in despair.

oOoOoOo

_In the groundlessly poetically named Land of Shadow_

Two emaciated hobbits were trudging on, somehow managing to cover staggering distances on foot with virtually no provisions and nary an idea of which way they were going.

“I was shown a map at Rivendell,” said Frodo, “but I can’t exactly remember it.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, Mr Frodo, it would have been better if they’d actually _given_ you that map.”

“It was a mural.”

“Well, a copy then. A sketch. Anything beyond a mere trust in your memory. Meaning no disrespect to elves, of course.”

“Yes, Sam, you’d better not show any disrespect for the elves, who are your betters in every way, and you should know your place like a good little working-class hobbit. Where would we be if gardeners could criticise elves? Think of all the help they have rendered us. Think of Galadriel’s phial!”

“It’s just a shame that you didn’t think of it earlier,” muttered Sam.

Frodo shot him a caustic look. “Which bit about _know your place_ do you not understand, Sam Gamdgee?”

Sam suddenly looked downcast and peevish. He shrugged and tried to scratch a random figure into the sand with his foot, but since the ground was mercilessly rocky, he merely succeeded in stubbing his toe. He flinched.

“I’m sorry, Mr Frodo. Shall I give you piggy-back?”

“Not yet.”

oOoOoOo

_Some time later outside the loathsome city._

Gandalf raised his voice in his most authoritative tone. “Under no circumstances should we draw any attention to the Mogul Vale, because for all we know, Frodo and Sam might still be here somewhere in the vicinity.”

The various leaders pondered this and then nodded in agreement.

Gandalf took a draw of his pipe.

“On second thoughts,” he said, “Let’s just set fire to the place.”

oOoOoOo

_Somewhere in Barad-dûr_

“Your Darklordship,” said Mouthy with just a hint of acidity, “I can no longer hide my grave concerns. First, you got the weather forecast wrong. The darkness has lifted too early, allowing our enemies to develop all sorts of motivational feelings that will almost certainly turn out to be to their advantage.”

Sauron blinked. The pleasant effect of his recent lavender and rosemary bubble bath was beginning to wear off and he became dimly aware of the annoying voice coming out of his Mouth. He waved a hand at it to swat it away, but the voice droned on.

“Secondly, the nazgûl are turning out to be spectacularly ineffective. I found out only this morning that they only flew about aimlessly, scaring folk a little, instead of actually stopping the hosts of Rohan from reaching Minas Tirith. And now we have evidence here –” He gestured at the mithril shirt, eleven cloak and Numenorean dagger that he had a minute ago placed on a darling little carved rosewood side table. “– that someone has indeed slipped through our nets, as I always feared. May I again draw your attention to the possibility that these rogues are probably planning to reach Mount Doom and destroy the Ring? Has it crossed your mind that the army marching on the Black Gate is nothing more than a diversion? The gate itself is unassailable, so wouldn’t it be better to withdraw our troops from that area and have them defend the Cracks of Doom instead?”

“Absolutely not,” said Sauron, supressing a yawn. “We can’t have any rag-tag army marching up to my front door and making a stink without us showing them who is boss. Prepare our troops to outstink them.”

“In that case, your Darklordship,” said Mouthy, “I would like to propose a cunning plan that has just occurred to me. If we take these trophies that we have acquired from the enemy’s spies, and make them believe that we have –”

“Oh, do whatever you like,” snapped Sauron. “I’m past caring. I’m going to turn in early and read a bit more about that wizard kid at the boarding school. Have some lemon tea sent up to my room, will you?”

oOoOoOo

And so, dear readers, we are approaching the end and everything is coming up roses for our useless heroes. Courage may have played a role in their victory, strategic planning certainly didn’t. If you ask me, they won through fluke and the author’s bias in their favour. The Witch King is too blasé to realise that a woman and a halfling could easily scupper his precious prophecy with just a bit of linguistic hair splitting. A favourable wind drives Aragorn’s ships upriver. Sauron’s enormous armies are easily beaten and scattered and, apart from Theoden, only the extras die. The orcs in the watch tower all kill each other, making it easy for Sam to rescue Frodo, and the nazgûl fail to find the hobbits time after time (cue Cyndi Lauper…). The Ring is destroyed just in time to save the army of good guys from oblivion at the Black Gate. Eagles conveniently provide taxi services so our dear li’l hobbits don’t get roasted, Anakin-Skywalker-style, on a river of lava. And so on and so forth. The villains had to be lucky only once while the heroes had to be lucky every time, and guess what…

oOoOoOo

_After some serious partying on the Field of Cormallen_

“Shall we go home soon?” asked Merry merrily.

“No rush,” replied Gandalf. “We have many loose ends to tie up here still, and we should give Saruman time to stir up trouble in the Shire so that you have another nice little adventure awaiting you on your return.”

“Fair enough,” said Frodo. “We’ve not been in a hurry all through this story, so why start now?”

And so they didn’t, and the partying went on.


End file.
